


Collecting Scars

by doomtwinkie (shinysparks)



Series: The Force Between Us [4]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Abbie Mills Shines, Abbie has force visions, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, Angst, Established Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills, F/M, Force-sensitive Abbie Mills, Hurt Ichabod Crane, Hurt/Comfort, Ichabbie Forever, Ichabod Crane Jedi Knight, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, When things go to hell I take refuge in a galaxy far far away, author is a huge sucker for happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-28 01:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysparks/pseuds/doomtwinkie
Summary: Abbie, while waiting on Crane to recover from his injuries, is triggered by memories of her Jedi past; before experiencing a vision of a horrifying future at the hands of the Empire...





	1. The Past

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things that has taken me so long with doing more chapters was that when I started this, I really didn't have a lot of plans. I just started writing, basically. So I ended up having to stop, come up with a plan, work out a timeline that made sense and go from there.
> 
> I've been writing a bit slower because of life reasons, too (my life has been in FML mode for like a damn year now...) 
> 
> I am trying to stay as true to canon as I can on the Star Wars side, but not so much on the Sleepy Hollow side. Abbie and Crane are not witnesses (he's not married to Katrina,) they're not there to ultimately save the galaxy; they're just two madly in love, force-sensitive people trying to make a life together in a galaxy full of conflict.
> 
> This story takes place during the Clone Wars, a few weeks after the Blockade of Pantora in 21 BBY; and includes a vision of Abbie's that takes place six years later in 15 BBY, or roughly two years before the prologue of Rogue One (when Jyn is a kid?)
> 
> Most of this fic is done - I just lack about 500 words in the next chapter. I hope to have the rest posted in a couple of days. :)
> 
> Thanks to Thymelady for betaing this! Hope you like it AND MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU! <3

Abbie Mills did not want to sleep.

She had found her way back to her temporary quarters on the Star Destroyer, to the spartan, Jedi-style room she’d been assigned the moment she and Crane had been brought on board. She groaned, lying in the bed that was situated on the floor, as she eyed the room with disdain. 

The room was basically a closet. There was a bed, a small, bedside table, and not much else. In fact, the only thing that kept it from being too stifling was a small window above her bed - not that there was much to see out of it, of course, save for the blackness and emptiness of space. There was even less of that, for the moment, as the Star Destroyer had engaged the hyperdrive roughly an hour prior. Instead of stars, there was a rhythmic blue flashing light that shone through her window and danced around the room. It was pretty at first, but it had quickly turned annoying and not at all conducive to sleep.

Abbie groaned again. She had half a mind to sleep in the quarters next door that were assigned to Crane - the quarters he’d yet to use. He’d not been lucky enough to draw a room with a window, so it was assuredly much darker than hers. And closed in. And stifling. She quickly thought the better of it, and groaned a third time.

It wasn’t just the room, though. It was everything. It was the room. It was the ship. It was the loss of _her_ ship. It was being around so many Jedi and how stifling their essence made her feel. It was the same, stuffy, Jedi ways that had ruled her childhood - ways that she’d abandoned long ago. It was the room, the tiny, stifling room that reminded her distinctly of that past. It was that same starkness, of nothingness, where she’d laid in bed each night and suffered Force vision after Force vision - visions that she ultimately witnessed or experienced in her waking hours. Force visions that were too accurate, too unyielding, and ones that gave her no peace whatsoever.

And yet, there she was, back again. Back in the same misery she’d once experienced, triggered by the tiny Jedi quarters she’d been forced to take refuge in. Abbie was no Jedi. She could’ve been, but she chose differently. She chose to live in a world that wasn’t ruled by the Jedi’s vastly confusing lies - or rather, their own “point of view.” She had grown fed up with them, fed up with all of them patting her on the head and telling her that Force visions were nearly impossible to interpret; that they were clouded by her emotions. They chided her for being angry, for being frustrated... for being terrified of the horrors she saw in her mind. They knew her visions tended to be eerily accurate, but they continued to ignore them - to ignore her.

In the end, she chose differently. She chose to run away, to be anything other than a Jedi. She had worked hard; bought a nice, albeit used, Corellian model light freighter; and had lived a different life. She had become a spacer, dabbling in everything from transportation, to bounty hunting wanted criminals, to smuggling food and supplies to worlds in need. She made efforts to push the Force away, and it had brought her more happiness and relief than she’d ever known in her life.

But the Force, it seemed, had found her again. It had brought her back into the fold, into the watchful, disapproving eye of the Jedi once again. And there, she found herself in a room - a tiny, stifling, triggering Jedi room - headed back to Coruscant. Back to the Jedi Temple once again, until the Witness could be repaired.

Abbie sat up, pushing off the covers. She’d barely slept at all for days, but it certainly wasn’t happening that night. Pulling her legs up and crossing them, she reclined against the wall, staring up at the dancing lights on the ceiling of the room. She reached down, pulling out the fine chain she wore around her neck and fingering the tiny kyber crystal hanging on it. She pulled the crystal pendant up into her line of sight and stared at it. It was a pretty little thing, an icy bluish-gray in color and deeply attuned to her. It was _hers._ It had found her on Ilum during the Gathering, and it had shown her a vision of herself throwing her lightsaber into the shallow seas on Lothal, her homeworld. She always believed her crystal was never meant to be a weapon; and yet, the Jedi had forced her to create one out of it, anyway.

The blade the crystal created had been completely unstable, to the point it was barely even usable - not that she really minded, of course. Swordplay had never been her strong suit, anyway. However, the color of the unstable blade had been singular, and beautiful, and it had stood out among the usual blue and green lightsabers the other Padawans possessed. In fact, she had only seen that specific color in one other place: in the eyes of Ichabod Crane.

The Force did work in mysterious ways, after all.

When she’d left the Jedi, and finally made it home to Lothal, she’d actively made the vision she had on Ilum come true. Climbing onto a rock above the sea, she’d tossed the silver hilt of her lightsaber into the water beneath the light of the blue moons. She kept the kyber crystal, though, as a reminder to herself: the Jedi path was not her path. 

It was a reminder that she desperately needed at the moment.

She put the kyber crystal pendant down, tucking it into her nightshirt. Somehow, she felt better keeping it hidden and way from the prying eyes of the Jedi.

Abbie took a deep breath. Stifling. The room was stifling. There was barely enough room for her to move around very much, even with her being as small as she was. It didn’t help that the room was acting as storage for hers and Crane’s personal belongings, either. She had almost placed the large, brown sack containing Crane’s possessions in his own room, but thought better of it when she realized the kinds of things that he _did_ possess. Prying Jedi eyes, after all. She was fairly certain his growing collection of books would’ve been fine; but his equally growing collection of various blasters and thermal detonators? His hoard of various weapon parts? Yeah, probably not. And she was certain that if they knew he possessed full, working Mandalorian armor - something they’d forbidden him from having for as long as they’d held sway over him - that the entire Council might very well spawn an entire litter of loth-cats on the spot.

Abbie had buried the armor at the bottom of _her_ sack, placing her own clothing on top of it. She did the same for the blasters and detonators, leaving only his books and clothes in the sack marked “I. Crane.” She sighed. It was safer that way, she felt.

There was only one other object in Crane’s sack: his lightsaber. It laid on top of his folded clothing, poking itself slightly out of the sack. Abbie reached her hand over and plucked it out. She turned the weapon over in her hands, sensing his essence radiating from it. It felt cool, and calm in her hands; peaceful, even, but in a raging sort of way. It was like opposites being forced together - opposites forced to intermingle. His essence felt like the calm before a great storm; or perhaps, even the eye of it.

Crane’s lightsaber was odd - or at least, she’d seen few like it. It was slightly curved at the hilt, and was quite plain and utilitarian; save for an inlay of wood from a Veshok tree, a tree native to his homeworld of Mandalore. The silver metal and the wood barely looked like they fit together; but maybe, Abbie figured, that was the point. Crane was certainly an atypical Jedi. He barely seemed like a good fit with them, after all.

Carved into the wood in Crane’s own, fine handwriting was a simple Mandalorian saying: _Verd ori'shya beskar'gam._. He had once translated it for her, saying that it meant “a warrior is more than his armor.” It seemed a fitting quote for a Mandalorian who had not only been stripped of his armor, but of his family, his language, his culture and his entire planet. It was his way of trying to reconnect with who he was, and who the Jedi had forbid him from being.

They feared Crane. She’d known that for a while now. Though there had been a few Mandalorian Jedi in the past, the Jedi tended to avoid Mandalore like the plague when it came to recruitment. There was bad blood there - an ancient history of war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians. Not to mention, most Mandalorian ideals and philosophy had a way of sounding a lot like Sith poetry. War, conquest, passion, power... these were not the ways of the Jedi - or at least, they were not the ways they typically claimed.

Crane had been an enigma of sorts, the last surviving son of a clan of Death Watch adherents. He was orphaned young, he was alone, and he had a way with the Force that was not only innate, but extremely powerful. He’d caught the interest of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and Jinn’s padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, during their year-long mission there. Jinn, amazed by the boy’s abilities, wasted little time dragging the orphaned Crane back to Coruscant for training. The Jedi Council had, in turn, wasted little time pawning him off on the first Jedi that would train him far, far away from them: Quinlan Vos.

 _It’s amazing Crane survived to adulthood being apprenticed to_ THAT _Jedi,_ Abbie thought to herself.

Abbie fingered the weapon, brushing over the grain of the wood until she found the button at the top of the inscription. She pressed it, and his lightsaber sparked to life. She eyed the glowing, indigo-colored blade, giving it a gentle wave and listening to it crackle and split the air. Like hers, his lightsaber had been an unusual color, too. It wasn’t quite blue, it wasn’t quite violet, and yet, it was a little bit of both. It stood out. It didn’t fit. It was Crane through and through.

She’d once asked Crane about his own experience with the Gathering, during a long, lonely trip they’d taken from Tatooine to Jakku. She had asked him how he ended up with an odd colored crystal as well. He had only looked at her, smiled and said, “because you gave it to me.”

Abbie shook her head, and flipped his lightsaber off. She wondered if perhaps Crane had had visions, too. But if he did, he never said anything about them. She shrugged, and then placed the lightsaber back on top of his clothes.

Stretching her arms, Abbie gave another groan, and then pushed herself up off the bed. She yawned, but it was mainly just for show, she figured. Sleep was not coming that night and she knew it. She grabbed some clean clothes from her own bag - a cream-colored shirt, a pair of dark blue pants, and her usual cranberry-colored, leather jacket. She threw them on quickly, and then shoved her feet into her boots. She left the pretty, hand-painted, sky blue silken scarf that she normally slept in wrapped around her head, though. The room was too small for a mirror, and she wasn’t in the mood for another run to the refresher just to access one.

Abbie eyed Crane’s lightsaber again, sensing the raging calm that emanated from it. Normally, she needed to touch things to glean information from them - psychometry, the Jedi called it - but the room was small, and it was stifling. And maybe she just missed Crane. There was that, too. Without thinking, she grabbed it up and attached it to her belt. Somehow, she felt better with it than without it - at least in his absence. She hit the door’s access panel with her hand, and stepped out into the dark corridor of the ship.

Energy drinks. Coffee. Anything to wake her up, to keep her from dreaming - to keep her from having visions. Abbie Mills was a woman on a mission.

The corridor was empty and quiet, save for the noticeable hum of the ship’s electronics and life support systems. Occasionally, a droid would pass by, usually a random astromech making repairs or a shiny-plated protocol one carrying data of some sort. There was a smaller cleaning droid - no more than a box on wheels - that sped past her as she turned a corner. She swore she’d seen a knife taped to it; however, she quickly shook her head and continued to walk. Obviously, she was more tired than she realized.

The galley was only a few decks below her, and she elected to take the stairs instead of one of the lifts. She didn’t want to stop walking, didn’t want to make small talk, didn’t want to be still. Movement felt good, like she was doing something. Walking made her feel free, not trapped on a stifling Star Destroyer, headed back to Coruscant and to the Jedi Temple - the one place in the galaxy where she’d experienced so much misery. 

Abbie gave a sigh, and then yawned again. She was less than twenty meters from the promise of coffee. Or an energy drink. Perhaps even a bit of breakfast or something. The ship’s galley stayed open all hours, in order to cater to the many clone troopers who were always coming and going from missions or ship’s duty. Some of the clones even made for good company when one needed to chat. 

Abbie wasn’t sure if she really felt like chatting, though.

Fifteen meters out. A clone trooper passed her in the corridor; his helmet on. Abbie shivered as he passed, not quite knowing why. Without thinking, her hand reached down and gripped Crane’s lightsaber on her belt. She sensed Crane’s essence as she did, that feeling of the calm before the storm. It flowed through her, becoming additive, making her shiver even more. It caused her to grow even more uneasy. Something felt _off_ , as if something in the universe had shifted and changed. The air around her grew more and more stifling - almost electrified, even. The hum of the ship grew louder and louder as she walked.

 _Perhaps a storm_ was _coming,_ she thought, blinking slowly, feeling as if she were in a dream.

There were flashes in her sight, flashes of a corridor that seemed darker and much more terrifying. Her stomach twisted itself into knots, and she breathed heavily. The universe continued to shift. It continued to change.

“The Force is with me,” she mumbled to herself at barely a whisper. She knew. She knew what was coming. She had felt it far too many times before.A vision... She was about to have a vision.

A group of clone troopers exited the galley only ten meters in front of her. Like the other that had passed her, their helmets were on, and they waved and gestured towards each other as they moved in her direction. She tightened her grip on the lightsaber, panic beginning to overtake her. _“Mhi solus tome...”_ she heard herself mutter mindlessly, not quite understanding what it was she said, _“mhi solus dar’tome...”_

Abbie saw the clone troopers walking towards her, and she shivered.

It was then that the Force vision took hold of her strongly, and Abbie slid out of reality - save for the sight of the clone troopers. They were centered as everything grew dark, morphing and shifting as they advanced. Their helmets changed. They held weapons. They were once her compatriots. Now, they were her nightmare.

She saw the _stormtroopers_ walking towards her, and she shivered...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll spare you the google. Mandalorian phrases, translated:
> 
> Verd ori'shya beskar'gam - A warrior is worth more than his armor.  
> Mhi solus tome - We are one together.  
> Mhi solus dar'tome - We are one when parted.
> 
> Also, I did take a few liberties with Crane's backstory in making him the padawan of Quinlan Vos. I wasn't sure when Vos was born or when he took on Aayla Secura as his padawan; however Vos is on Tatooine during the Invasion of Naboo (Ichabod would be around 17 years old, according to my timeline,) and IIRC, Ryloth wasn't invaded until a little later; so I figure it might work?
> 
> I should also mention that I don't have a great fondness for the Jedi Order during the time of the Clone Wars. I've based a lot of Abbie's issues with them off of Ahsoka's arc at the end of the Clone Wars (how she was framed by Barriss Offee, how the Jedi treated her, why she left, etc.) Crane's issues are mainly based on Anakin and the Jedi's view of attachments.
> 
> Abbie's ship, the Witness, is a YT-1300p Corellian light freighter. Think of it as being a slightly modified version of the Millennium Falcon. ;)


	2. The Future

_Jedha City, Jedha. Six years later..._

She saw the stormtroopers walking towards her, and she shivered.

Abbie Mills slunk around the corner of the building, and pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head. She took a deep breath, and grabbed her blaster from out of the holster on her right leg. She checked it over carefully, making sure that it wasn’t set for stun, before putting it back. A firefight would be bad, she told herself, taking another calming breath. Sure, there were plenty of jokes floating around, that the Empire’s prized soldiers couldn’t hit the broad side of a bantha from a meter away; that their armor was practically decorative and useless; but still, she preferred not to take chances. Not right now.

She gripped the tiny chip in her pocket - the entire reason she and Crane had risked coming to Jedha, of all places. The chip was their future, and she would not risk it.

Odds are, they won’t recognize me, she thought, remembering that both she and Crane had tried damned hard to stay off Imperial radar for years. Still, she grabbed a small, thermal detonator out of her bag, and shoved it into her pocket. Better safe than sorry, however.

She took one more deep breath, and finally turned the corner... only to come face to face with a stormtrooper.

He leered down at her, and she gulped.

“Identification!” he barked at her, causing her to jump.

Abbie looked down at her feet, but did not move. She closed her eyes, and tried to focus as best she could (which was difficult, with her stomach turning somersaults.) _I am one with the force,_ she told herself, concentrating, _the force is with me..._

She looked up at soldier in front of her, and eyed him resolutely.

“You don’t need to see my identification,” she told the stormtrooper, waving her hand over his face.

He paused for a moment, and stiffened.

“I don’t need to see your identification,” he repeated, almost monotone.

Abbie breathed a quick sigh of relief.

“I should move along, if I know what’s good for me,” she then told him, waving her hand once more.

“You should move along, if you know what’s good for you,” ordered the stormtrooper.  
“Yes sir!” Abbie told him, smirking, as she quickly scurried off.

She moved swiftly through the streets of Jedha City, keeping herself just below a run. The streets were still filled with Imperials, and any one of them could stop her and quickly ruin everything she and Crane had worked so hard for... worked hard, and suffered for...

It had been a long six years, to say the least.

Abbie was sick of running, sick of hopping from planet to planet, only staying long enough to make enough credits to fund a trip to the next world. They had over a dozen aliases between them; had taken whatever sort of odd job would come their way; ate whatever kept them going; and slept wherever they could find - when they could sleep, of course. Most nights, they’d wake each other up, gasping, shaking and covered in a cold sweat. For Crane, it was visions of the past, of Order 66 and the clone troopers - the friends and brothers-in-arms - he’d been forced to kill to survive that haunted him. For Abbie, though, it was the visions the future, of Geonosis and Alderaan and Scarif and Lasan and all of the other worlds that would be decimated by the Empire, that haunted her.

She wanted a reprieve from it all. A break. A rest. She wanted to be able to move freely again, to do something - anything - to help ease some of the suffering she saw daily. She wanted to stop her visions from becoming a reality. 

But most of all, she wanted to _rebel._

Abbie clutched the tiny chip in her pocket protectively. The data encoded on it was a deed to a Corellian VCX light freighter that was sitting docked in the Mos Eisley Spaceport, waiting for them. The ship needed a bit of work - a coat of paint and some necessary repairs to the hyperdrive - but it was doable. The chip also contained the ship’s operating license and pilot licenses for both her and Crane, all of which were registered and legal with the Empire - at least, as legal as one could get with sliced data. There was information, too, on Imperial hotspots and places they’d be wise to avoid; and twenty-thousand Imperial credits registered in her name - enough to get them off Jedha and started on their journey to Tatooine...

The chip was everything. The chip was their future.

She slowed her pace a bit, noticing a large group of stormtroopers approaching. Her stomach turned once again, but she tried hard to focus, to shrink her presence in the Force, and appear as if she were not there at all as she passed them. It was a trick she’d picked up from watching the ever-so-stealthy Crane, and one that she’d put to good use a few times. Once she’d slipped past them, she darted into an alleyway, smiling, and shaking her head. _Figures I’d decide to be a Jedi after most of them are gone,_ she thought to herself.

The street opened up to the entrance to the Temple of the Kyber, the large stone building that was quite possibly the only thing worth visiting on the cold, desolate rock that was Jedha. Abbie caught sight of Crane reclining against the outer stone wall of the temple, staring off into the distance almost expectantly. He looked pale - or at least, paler than usual, and the late afternoon light seemed to make the dark circles that ringed his eyes, and the graying streak in his beard, far more apparent. She gripped the chip in her pocket once again. A ship would give him a place to rest. A ship would give them options...

Crane saw her and smiled sheepishly as she shook her head and pointed her finger at him. He knew he was in trouble. Before she’d left to meet with Irving’s courier, she’d ordered him to rest in the quarters that the temple’s guardians had so graciously offered them. He clearly hadn’t listened. Abbie sighed. Of course he hadn’t. Following simple commands was not exactly his forte, after all...

He needed to rest, though. It had only been a few weeks since he’d been wounded; stabbed in gut during a fight with some Death Watch rejects on Concord Dawn. One of them had tried to hurt her. It had been a mistake. A deadly one.

It had all happened in a flash, she recalled. A hand on her wrist, pulling her, saying nasty things to her, causing her to cry out. Crane seeing it, and screaming; screaming so hard and cursing in his native Mandalorian. At some point he'd invoked the Mandalorian code, wishing to duel his opponent to the death. The opponent shot at him, and Abbie recalled the air around them grew ice cold and charged. Crane held out his hand and stopped the blaster bolt mid air with the Force. No sound could be heard, save for the gasps of the Mandalorian Protectors who witnessed the fight.

They'd never seen anything like it. Neither had she, for that matter.

She recalled Crane stepping around the frozen bolt, before letting it fly again. Seconds later, he reached out his arm, and his opponent was lifted high in the air. There was gasping, and choking, and the charged air had grown icy. The chill had made her shiver. And in that moment, the Dark Side was with him, and it was strong.

Abbie recalled wanting to do something, to stop him, but the coldness, the anger, and the rage she sensed from him caused her to freeze in place.

He had been stabbed soon after by his opponent’s brother, right up under his armor. Abbie had screamed. Crane had hit the ground hard, and his opponent fell to the ground even harder, shattering and smashing bones and organs when he collided. There was no saving him. The brother went at Crane in a rage; but Crane, still enraged, in great pain, and strong with the Dark Side, had grabbed his lightsaber from his belt. With every ounce of his power, he'd swung the lightsaber hard, taking off the brother’s head. The rest of the Mandalorians watching cheered, and Crane fell back, unconscious.

The chill in the charged air had dissipated, and Abbie, unfrozen, ran to him and cradled him in her arms. He’d bled profusely and his breathing was shallow. She remembered yanking off his helmet and running her fingers through his short, shaggy and sweat-soaked hair. She held him close, tears running down her face. The universe became blurry to her, as if she were experiencing life slowly, and through fog. She only vaguely recalled someone pulling off the chest plate of his armor, and then yelling for someone to fetch the surgical droid - the only medical help they had available.

Abbie shivered at the memory. There was no bacta that time to heal him. There was the surgical droid, a bed, some basic medical supplies, and not much else. Crane had stopped breathing a couple of times, and a few of the Protectors had had to give him blood more than once. She’d stayed with him, holding his hand, and even snuggling up to him at night when she thought he felt cold. She remembered lying there in silence, save for the sound of their breaths and beeping machines; and of the terror that was always overwhelming her. The fear of the future... the fear of the Empire...

 _“Mhi solus tome...”_ She had often whispered to him, the vows they’d spoken together those six years ago on Lothal; as she lay there, shaking, nuzzling his shoulder gently, _“mhi solus dar’tome.”_

_We are one together. We are one when parted._ Abbie remembered thinking. _Don’t leave me to face this waking nightmare alone, Crane._

He had opened his eyes the morning after that, groggy and mostly drunk from heavy painkillers. She recalled him lifting up the blanket that covered them, and eyed his bandaged midsection curiously.

“I’m... I’m collecting scars, it seems...” He’d mumbled to her, first fingering the bandages, then the old scar from the crash on Orto Plutonia, and then the one on his chest he’d received as a boy, “...at least they’re... not on my face. My face is my fortune...”

He nodded off again after that, and Abbie laughed, and cried, and laughed some more. 

The wound had delayed their meeting with Irving’s courier for a matter of weeks, forcing them to meet on Jedha instead of a much safer, Outer Rim world - something that Andy, the courier, had commented on at least six times during their meeting. Crane still had stitches when they arrived, and he still couldn’t wear his armor properly (much to his displeasure, as the leader of the Protectors had painted a pair of shriek-hawk eyes on his helmet; symbols that distinguished Crane in battle.) He still dealt with a great deal of pain. He needed to rest, he needed to stay in bed...

“You really don’t listen well, do you, Crane?” Abbie said to him when she reached him, reclining against the outer temple wall.  
“Pardon?” He asked innocently.  
“You were supposed to be resting.” She told him, moving to sit down next to him. She laid her head on his shoulder.  
“Technically, I am resting,” he pointed out.  
“Inside. In bed. Where it’s warm?”  
“Staring up at the ceiling, doing nothing...”  
“Yes, exactly!” Said Abbie, “you stopped breathing at least twice after this happened. You lost your spleen. Resting is usually helpful after these things happen!”

Crane opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off by the two temple guardians that passed them.

“Thanks for your assistance, Master Crane!” The gruff-looking guardian told Crane, holding up a brown sack full of food that was marked with an Imperial emblem and smiling, “we’ll eat for a good week off of this!”  
“They’re Jedi, you know,” the other guardian, who walked with a staff, said proudly, grinning from ear to ear.  
“Yes, Chirrut! I’m sure they want you to say that a little bit louder - there’s still places on Jedha that didn’t hear you!” the gruff-looking guardian exclaimed as they walked back into the temple.

Abbie sat up and turned towards Crane, raising an eyebrow. He cowered in reply, hanging his head. There was an audible gulp.

“Assistance?” She asked, crossing her arms.  
“There may have been a little... _delinquency._ ” He said.  
“Define ‘little.’”  
“I aided the guardians in rescuing some much needed food and supplies...” he prattled on, offering a slight cough, “...from the Empire.”

Abbie stared him down, eyes wide and boring into him. Crane gulped again.

“It hardly seemed fair for us not to pay back the guardians' kind hospitality!” Crane protested. “If it helps, I did very little. I simply created a few distractions, mind tricked a few Imperials, and unlocked a few locks with the Force.”

Crane wiggled his fingers. Abbie blinked slowly, still eyeing him. He stiffened, which made him grunt with slight discomfort.

“I did not run... much. A kilometer... at most.” He muttered, trying to be reassuring. It did not work.

Abbie groaned, reaching over and tugging at midnight blue hoodie that he wore under his jacket. She pulled it up, almost ripping it off, and checked over his bandages underneath, tickling him as she did. Crane smiled at her flirtatiously.

“Shouldn’t we be in private for this, Treasure?” He asked with a wink; however, Abbie pointed her finger in his face and he stopped smiling.

She peeled off the tape that held his bandages in place, pulling small hairs out by the root at she went. Crane winced, but said nothing. Uncovering the wound, she counted each and every stitch, making sure none were torn. None were. 

A wave of relief washed over her as she replaced the bandage, sticking it down as best she could. Her stomach had still twisted itself into knots all the same, though. She had expected the worst; expected that stitches had been torn open, that infection had, or would soon set in, that Crane would need medical care on a world where such a thing barely existed. Jedha was circling the drain, as it were. There was little left, thanks to the Empire's occupation, and anyone privileged enough to leave was getting off-world while the getting was good.

Abbie knew the temple guardians, Chirrut and Baze, would try to help them in the the case of an emergency - the two had done so much for she and Crane already, in fact. But the guardians were struggling themselves, making ends meet for themselves and their flock by stealing from the Empire. They were already in danger, and Abbie knew she and Crane could ask no more of them.

Abbie stared at Crane, into his bluish-gray eyes that seemed more gray than usual in the dying light of day. She clutched the chip in her pocket again. Soon they'd be on their way. Soon, they'd have a ship, where he could heal up and rest.

Soon, they'd fly free once again.

“I already checked the wound,” Crane told her, pulling his shirt back down, “I even changed the dressings. It’s fine.”  
“Crane, you have to be careful,” She said, her eyes beginning to tear up, “If something... if something else happened to...”  
“I’m not going anywhere, Abbie,” He said gently, reaching over and kissing her gently on the lips. Abbie closed her eyes, feeling the tingle that shot through her entire body, filling her stomach with butterflies and making her heart swell with love.

_**BOOM!** _

She felt a smile spread across Crane’s lips. She opened her eyes and broke from the kiss, only to watch him start to chuckle and look up at the sky.

There were fireworks everywhere. Fireworks of every color, all exploding at one time and filling the evening sky above Jedha City with sparks and thunder. They continued, one after the other after the other, causing everyone in the city to stop and look upwards. Stormtroopers ran by them, barking orders and screaming in a panic. Two TIE fighters that were flying over the city got caught up in the explosions, and then collided with each other in an even bigger, louder explosion. The fireworks continued.

“Crane, what did you do?!” She asked him, her mouth dropping open.  
“I... may have persuaded one of the Imperials to set off their Empire Day fireworks show a day early," he muttered quietly, still looking up at the sky and smirking mischievously, "in fact, he was amazingly susceptible to the Jedi mind trick."

Abbie glared at him, her mouth still hanging open.

"Don't worry: I altered his memories as well. As far as he knows, he simply misread the date. No harm done," Crane said with a smile.

Abbie couldn't take her eyes off of him. She shook her head gently, still staring. She had barely blinked, in fact, still shocked at his grand show of complete and utter delinquency. It was an inappropriate use of the Force at the very least. In fact, she was fairly certain that memory rubbing - the altering of memories with the Force - involved the use of the Dark Side; however, she said nothing. There was enough to worry about.

Her stomach was still in knots, though. Her mind was racing, wondering if the Imperials would double their guard. Would they close the port, delaying their trip off-world? Were there security recordings? Would they suspect Jedi involvement and hunt down Crane? Her breathing began to quicken the more she considered what he'd done, and every single repercussion that might occur. She felt dizzy and sick. Her head began to hurt. She began to feel unglued in time and space.

"Will you look up and enjoy your anniversary gift, my love?" Crane said, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

Abbie froze. Her mind went blank, save for everything besides the word _anniversary,_ and a powerful desire to shoot him with her blaster. He never forgot anything. Not once.

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kill him. Instead, she held onto his hand and looked up at the sky.

For the first time in what felt like ages to her, Abbie smiled with honest joy.

Crane was smiling, watching her smile. She could sense that much. She could sense his thoughts, too, the longer she held onto his hand. He was thinking about that day, the day before Empire Day, those six years prior - that one last, happy day before their entire existence went straight to hell. She recalled that day on Lothal, that quiet moment, when they held hands and spoke their vows to each other - he in Mando'a, she in Basic:

 _Mhi solus tome._ We are one together.  
_Mhi solus dar'tome._ We are one when parted.  
_Mhi me'dinui an._ We share everything.  
_Mhi ba'juri verde._ We will raise warriors.

She had laughed at the time over the vows and the simplicity of their entire "wedding." No religious official, no witnesses, no reception, no party - Mandalorians were anything if not efficient. She had managed to find a simple, white dress, though; one that had sparkled silver in the light of Lothal's twin moons. Crane had worn his armor, and his Jedi cloak for what turned out to be the last time. They held each other close as they said their vows. And then, they ripped the dress, the armor and the cloak from each other's bodies with hands, with teeth, and with the Force. They consummated their marriage several times there on the beach at the edge of the shallow sea. There was a small bit of jogan fruit cake afterwards (and in between) to keep up their stamina.

It was simple, and it was beautiful, and that night, they had stole a brief moment of peace from a galaxy at war - the last moment of peace before all hell had broken loose. Before the Empire came.

The fireworks were magnificent, but to Abbie, it wasn't so much what they looked like as it was what they represented. Crane had taken his barely stitched-up self and rebelled against the Empire... in her honor. He'd stolen their thunder, their happiness, their celebration, their _moment._ He'd shown her that even a small victory against their evil was something. A small victory could sustain them. A small victory could give them something they desperately needed: hope.

"I believe candy is traditional for the sixth anniversary on most worlds in the galaxy; however, the Empire doesn't seem that fond of sweets. I could find none to swipe." Crane muttered, with a grin, "I had to improvise a bit with your present."  
"On Lothal, it's wood," Abbie replied absentmindedly, still looking up at the sky and beaming at her gift, "wood for the sixth."  
"Oh, I have _wood,_ Treasure," Crane said with a wink and a playful smirk, "we'll just have to wait until I am fully recovered."

Abbie looked at him. He looked at her. And then they laughed until it hurt. The fireworks finally stopped, and the skies over Jedha fell silent.

Catching her breath, Abbie pulled the chip out of her pocket. Crane had been mostly out of it during their trip to Jedha, hopped up on whatever painkillers, legal or illegal, the Protectors could dig up to send with him. In his moments of lucidity, he had been made aware they were meeting a courier of Irving's there, but as for the purpose... Abbie had kept him in the dark. What Irving had promised them - mainly for saving his neck after the Imperials had shot him down over Seelos - was practically a miracle in that day and time. The past six years had taught her to be cautious, to not get excited, to not count on the future until it was in her past. She was terrified of something going wrong, of something ruining all that she hoped for. The Empire did have a way of ruining things, after all.

"I suppose I have a gift of my own," she said, placing the chip in his hand.  
"What's this?" He asked, flipping the chip over between his fingers.  
"Our future, our freedom," Abbie replied, smiling, "a place we can call home."

Crane beamed at her, and then reached over and kissed her passionately on the lips. Abbie felt a jolt as he did, and everything in the universe - all of the worry and pain and fear that was with her - melted away in an instant. Instead, there was peace, and love, and a certain tickle from Crane's slightly shaggy facial hair. She closed her eyes, and a tear rolled down her cheek, one of happiness and relief. She then kissed him back hard, and she felt him smile once again, offering a pleasured moan in return for her effort. She tingled all over. Her heart soared.

And in that moment, Abbie realized the Force was with them; that they were one with the Force. But most of all, they were one with _each other._

"My home," he told her, briefly breaking from the sweet kiss, "is wherever you are, Abbie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, the Ghost from Rebels is a Corellian VCX light freighter. ;)


	3. The Present

“Lieutenant Mills?” She heard a voice call to her, “Lieutenant Mills? Are you alright?”

“Ca...Captain Rex?” Abbie asked, jerked back to the present and to the corridor of the Star Destroyer; blinking her eyes as if she were waking up from a dream. She craned her head up, looking at the familiar clone commander, “wha... what happened?”

“You looked like you passed out for a moment there, Lieutenant,” He answered her, removing his helmet and scratching his head. He then offered a hand to help her up. She flinched at his hand at first, the memory of the vision still fresh in her mind. Her stomach was still twisted into knots by all that she saw, and all that she knew. Abbie looked up at Rex, looking into his brown eyes - eyes that seemed concerned; worried, even, for her well-being. She sighed, and nodded.

Abbie shakily took his hand, and he helped her to her feet.

“I can escort you to the infirmary if you are in need,” he said to her, his voice calm.

Abbie shook her head no.

“No, I’m fine. Just tired,” she told him, nodding, “I haven’t slept very well lately. That’s all.”

Rex waved the other clones on, before turning to her.

“We’ve all been worried about Captain Crane, ma’am,” He said, “but I know he’s strong. He’s a warrior. Never discount a Mandalorian when there’s a battle to be fought.”

Abbie nodded. She knew that the clones were fond of Crane, and that Crane was fond of them. She was well aware that Crane often thought of them as being an extended part of his family, with them all having been cloned from a single Mandalorian warrior, and then trained by other Mandalorians. Even Rex himself had Mandalorian symbols - the eyes of a shriek-hawk - painted on his helmet. They were the closest thing Crane had to brothers of his own, and Abbie was well aware that he’d often fought with the Jedi Council over them; that he’d refused to lead a squadron of them into battle as the other Jedi had. Crane always said that it was about them being forced into Republic service against their free will. Abbie always thought it was mainly because he couldn’t bear to see one of his brothers die.

She sighed. That was something that made what she’d experienced in her vision seem even worse; the knowledge that Crane would one day be faced with a choice. That one day, he would have to kill those he considered brothers in order to survive whatever “Order 66” was.

“Thanks, Commander,” Abbie said, forcing a sheepish smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
“Try to get some rest, Lieutenant. There’s plenty of battles ahead to be fought.” He told her with a smile.

Rex then nodded to her, and then turned and followed the other clones, running to catch up.

Abbie sighed. Rex didn’t know how right he was.

She watched them as they walked off, watching as they turned into a nearby lift. The lift’s doors closed with a faint beep, and they were gone. Abbie bit her lip, fighting back tears and worry and frustration and above all, fear. Her visions always came true. Always. She knew that. She knew that and it terrified her to her very core. She knew what was coming; the horrors that she and Crane would see, and would face.

“The Empire,” she whispered, looking around cautiously at the corridor. Whatever the Empire was, the ship she was on and the clone troopers were going to be a part of it. And whatever it was, she and Crane would fight against it. They would fight together.

They would _rebel._

Abbie stared ahead, mustering up as much courage as she could find. She breathed in and out, pushing the Force away, and trying her best to center herself. To remember who she was. She then turned, staring in front of her resolutely, and then ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

She ran to find Crane.

She ran _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that Jedi knights (and above) hold the rank of General, while padawans hold the rank of Commander in the Clone Wars. There may be a future (possibly cracky) chapter detailing how Crane ended up a Captain. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll spare you the google. Mandalorian phrases, translated: 
> 
> Verd ori'shya beskar'gam - A warrior is worth more than his armor.  
> Mhi solus tome - We are one together.  
> Mhi solus dar'tome - We are one when parted.
> 
> Also, I did take a few liberties with Crane's backstory in making him the padawan of Quinlan Vos. I wasn't sure when Vos was born or when he took on Aayla Secura as his padawan; however Vos is on Tatooine during the Invasion of Naboo (Ichabod would be around 17 years old, according to my timeline,) and IIRC, Ryloth wasn't invaded until a little later; so I figure it might work?
> 
> I should also mention that I don't have a great fondness for the Jedi Order during the time of the Clone Wars. I've based a lot of Abbie's issues with them off of Ahsoka's arc at the end of the Clone Wars (how she was framed by Bariss Offee, how the Jedi treated her, why she left, etc.) Crane's issues are mainly based on Anakin and the Jedi's view of attachments.


End file.
